Therapy 101
by PhantomPenguin
Summary: Now with an epilogue! Erik, Raoul, Christine, Madame Giry, and a corpse are forced by Nadir to go to therapy, because, let's face it, they all have some serious issues. You know they do.
1. Therapy?

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize, I don't own. But I do keep Erik locked up in my closet. :)

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_Therapy._ Erik snorted with disgust, as he entered the building. Nadir was going to pay for this one.

He was the Phantom of the Opera.

He should be threatening the managers, or crashing chandeliers, not being asked a bunch of personal questions by some random twit. Well, if he was being forced into this, he might as well make it as enjoyable as possible.

That therapist was going to learn a new meaning of hell. _Now, _he though to himself, _where did I leave that noose?_

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_Therapy?_ Raoul thought. _I don't need therapy. There's nothing wrong with me._

Sure, he might have had a few _minor_ issues, but nothing that required therapy. There was nothing wrong with a full grown man taking an unnatural interest in most things feminine, or with the occasional cross-dressing, was there?

Of course not.

Primping himself in front of the mirror one last time, Raoul walked out the door.

_--------------_

_Why would Nadir insist I needed therapy?_ Christine thought.

_I'm perfectly sane._

She was engaged to the Vicomte de Chagny, for heaven sakes.

She did not need therapy. Then again, there was that issue of her believing that the Phantom of the Opera was the Angel of Music that her father had sent down from heaven, and then the issue of her learning the Phantom was in love with her.

_You know, _she thought, _therapy doesn't sound too bad._

_---------------_

_I cannot believe what that damned Persian has done this time!_

Madame Giry was angrily pacing around her room. _For the rest of those lunatics at this opera house, therapy seems like the logical choice, but why me?_

Madame Giry, unlike most of the aforementioned lunatics, wasn't all that crazy.

Sure, she'd hidden the Phantom from the rest of the world and kept his secret for who knows how many years, but, compared to the other's issues, that was nothing. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and walked out the door.

_---------------_

_Therapy?! How the hell am I supposed to go to therapy? I'm dead, for God's sake! _Joseph Buquet's corpse was lying in its coffin, wondering whether or not this therapy was worth rising from the dead.

Seeing how he was dead and therefore must have quite a few issues, the corpse decided to attend.

Yes, corpses do have feelings! How do I know?

Have you ever been a corpse?

It's not very fun.

* * *

And so, Erik, Raoul, Madame Giry, Christine, and the corpse of Buquet made their way into the therapist's office, and were ushered into a waiting room. The secretary, a bored looking young woman, looked up from her desk. "Alright. Which one of you wackos is first?" 

Erik looked at Raoul, Raoul looked at Christine, who looked at- well, you get the picture. Anyway, it was Madame Giry who agreed to go first, as she was somewhat afraid of what would happen without her supervision in the waiting room.

"Fine, I'll go. Erik, you behave yourself.

You are not to kill, maim, injure, disfigure, mutilate, wound, hurt, damage, destroy, annihilate, obliterate, wipe out, demolish, smash up, break, dent, scratch, stab, strangle, execute, impair, put to death, murder, slay, slaughter, eradicate, exterminate-"

"Alright, alright! I get the picture. Geez, woman, give it a rest. Besides, don't you trust me?" Erik glared at Madame Giry.

"No." she said.

"Why not?" Erik asked, giving her an adorable puppy dog look.

Just then, a side door opened up, and a woman stuck her head out.

"Are any of you going to come in, or am I going to have to come out, hit you over the head with a spatula, and drag you in?" Madame Giry sighed.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." As soon as the door had closed behind her, Erik's eyes got that funny gleam in them. You know, like right when he's about to kill someone.

And then, all hell broke loose.

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Well? What do you think? It's my first story in a LONG time, so drop a review and let me know what you think. Erik plushies to anyone who reviews. :P 


	2. Waiting Room Chaos

**Disclaimer:** Do you think that if I owned POTO I would sit around on my butt and write stories about it?

Well, probably, but that's not my point. I don't own anything except for Erik, who is still locked in my closet...crap, he escaped. Well, now I really don't own anything.

Anyway, enjoy the next chapter.

* * *

Madame Giry walked in the room. There were two armchairs, one of which was occupied by a formidable looking lady of about forty. "Name?" she asked. "Madame Giry." Madame Giry stated, and sat down in the chair. 

"Okay, let's begin. My name is Dr. Wolfe. Now, I'm going to do a simple exercise. I'm going to tell you a color, and you will tell me what emotion you think of. Yellow?"

"Happiness."

"Blue?"

"Sadness."

"Pink?"

"Love."

"Now," said Dr. Wolfe, "I'm going to hold up an inkblot, and you will tell me what you see it as. Got it?"

"Is this really necessary, Madame?" Madame Giry exclaimed. "I'm quite clearly in my right mind, and at this moment there is a deranged maniac in your waiting room who hates at least two of your patients."

"Alright, fine. I'll make it quick. I'll skip the crap about your childhood, and the completely useless (but always entertaining) stuff. The only thing I'll ask you is if you've ever had any traumatizing experiences in your life. Have you?"

"Well, now that you mention it…"

Dr. Wolfe rolled her eyes. They always had some sort of random experience that left them scarred for life. With this bunch, she hoped the stories would at least be interesting.

**In the waiting room:**

Once the door had shut, and Madame Giry was safely out of earshot, Erik began to unleash his diabolical plan.

It consisted of him whipping out an assortment of torture devices, and slowly advanced towards the fop-I mean Raoul.

"Which of your digits are you least fond of?" he asked. Raoul squeaked and hid behind Christine. She rolled her eyes. "Well, aren't you Mr. Brave." She remarked sarcastically.

Raoul's only reply was a small whimper. Erik smirked, and pulled out his secret weapon. It was…a shrubbery! Well, not really. It was actually a pair scissors. "Tell me," he asked, "How much do you like your hair?"

Reaching behind Christine, Erik dragged the shaking lump that was the Vicomte de Chagny over to a corner, and began to hack away at Raoul's pride and joy: his hair.

Piece by piece, Raoul's hair fell to the floor, until there was only a little bit left.

Erik was grinning manically, and, about to add the finishing touch, was stopped by Christine.

"Erik, I would appreciate it if you would stop tormenting my fiancé." She glared at him. He glared right back. "Fine," he said, giving in. Nobody can stand up to Christine's glare.

"I was almost done anyway," he pouted, and slunk over to hide in a corner.

Raoul looked up, whimpering. Christine, although not for lack of trying, was unable to control herself, and burst out laughing. The sight of him with barely any hair, and looking pathetic to boot, was just too much for her.

"Does it look that bad?" he asked. "Well…see for yourself." She pulled out a mirror, and handed it to him.

"Oh. My. God! What the hell did you do?"

For, Raoul's previously long hair had been hacked away into the shape of a large E.

Christine looked at Erik.

Erik looked at Christine.

"Have you been watching Zorro, by any chance?"

"Ummm, no?"

"Honestly, what am I going to do with you people?" she asked, completely exasperated.

At that very moment, Madame Giry was finishing up her therapy session.

**Back with Madame Giry:**

"And that," Madame Giry said tearfully, "was the last I ever saw of my Oreos, thanks to that horrible, evil cat of Erik's"

Dr. Wolfe was eyeing her rather oddly.

"I see. Well, you have more issues than I initially thought. I would like to have you come back for another session; how about a week from today?" Madame Giry looked at her.

"Well, if I must-"

She was cut short, however, by hearing Raoul's shrieks about his hair.

"Damn! I _knew_ I shouldn't have left them this long! Forgive me, Doctor. We'll continue this another time."

With that, Madame Giry headed towards the waiting room. Expecting to find it in a state of disarray, she was not disappointed when she found Erik sitting in what he now claimed as "his corner", and Christine attempting to comfort a sobbing and mostly hairless Raoul.

"Well," said Dr. Wolfe, stepping into the room, and was wondering why she'd taken this case.

These people were walking, talking nut jobs.

She sighed resignedly. "Alright, who's next?"

Joseph Buquet's corpse, who'd been all but forgotten, looked up from his _People_ magazine, stood up, and announced, "I'll go next."

* * *

Voila. My second chapter. Sorry I was somewhat slow on updating. The story got lost on my friend's computer (long story). It wasn't as funny as I hoped it would be, but I hope you guys will enjoy it. 

Suggestions/ideas are welcomed with open arms. And, to apologize for making you people wait a whole week (I meant to update much sooner), I'll post another chapter tomorrow :) Joseph's therapy experience will be a lot more interesting than Madame Giry's. That I promise.

Erik commands you to review.


	3. Interview With a Corpse

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Wow. That's pretty depressing when you type it out three times.

Anyway, here's the next chapter. I decided that putting what happens in the waiting room in the same chapter as the interviews with the therapist would be too much, so the waiting room madness now has its own chapter.

That's good for you people, because now there will be quite a bit more. Without further ado, I bring this extremely long author's not to a close, and present to you the next chapter.

* * *

Buquet, after making his announcement, followed Dr. Wolfe into her office. She paused, however, to whisper to the secretary, "Now, Gladys, I want you to keep an eye on these nut jobs. Tell me if they do anything out of the ordinary, okay?" 

Gladys looked at her. "Well," she amended, "Anything really over the top." Gladys continued to stare at her. "Fine!" Dr. Wolfe huffed. "Only call me if it's a life or death situation. Are you satisfied?"

Gladys smiled and nodded; she was glad she'd gotten her point across. No matter what they were doing, these people came across as veritable nut jobs.

"Good." said Dr. Wolfe, and proceeded to lead Buquet's corpse to her room.

"Now," she began, taking a seat, "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Okay…Well, I'm a corpse, who, for the past month and a half, has been living in a coffin underground. I don't breathe, I don't eat, sleep, or drink, and my best friend is now a maggot."

Dr. Wolfe just stared. "Do you mean to tell me that you are indeed a walking, talking corpse?" she asked incredulously.

"I thought we'd established that already." He said, leering at her (he seems to leer at people a lot, doesn't he).

"Okay, well, moving on, how did you die?" Dr. Wolfe figured she'd cover the obvious questions first. She'd found that even the easiest questions provoked long, drawn out answers.

She was not disappointed.

"Well, I was exploring the dark depths of the opera house, when I stumbled upon a trap door. I fell through, into a hellish room composed entirely of mirrors. It was… horrible." He said, gazing into the distance.

"And then," he continued, "There were illusions, terrible illusions. They all seemed so real." Dr. Wolfe looked at him intently, thrilled that she was getting a good story at last.

Most of the time it's, "My cat got run over by a sled," this, or "I have an obsession with peanuts because my deceased pet cow used to like whipped cream." No, wait. That one was actually pretty intersting.

Ahem.

"What happened?" She asked. Buquet made a dramatic gesture.

"I hung myself."

"That's it?!" Dr. Wolfe exclaimed. She'd been hoping to hear a gruesome tale of murder, not suicide. Our good doctor, you see, has this thing for horror stories.

"How can you laugh at me, woman?" He asked, breaking down completely and dissolving into tears. It soon evolved into a full blown mental breakdown.

Dr. Wolfe made a mental note not to criticize crazy peoples' suicide stories.

It led to fifteen minutes of her trying to calm them down, and usually she only succeeded by mentioning her "game" of "Name the Inkblot."

Dr. Wolfe sighed, and held up an inkblot. "This is how it works. I hold up an inkblot," she gestured towards the inkblot, "and you tell me what it makes you think of." Buquet looked at it.

"A torture chamber." He said decidedly.

She held up another one.

"Umm, a noose."

And another one.

"A coffin."

"Good God, man!" Dr. Wolfe exclaimed.

"Why are you so decidedly morbid?!"

"I'm a corpse, in case you hadn't forgotten." He remarked.

"Oh, right." Dr. Wolfe said, somewhat embarassed.

"Well, I think I'd like to have you come back in a week, along with Madame Giry. It seems all of you people need more help that can be offered in one session."

"Very well," he said. "

By the way," said Dr. Wolfe, "would you be so kind to send in my next patient? It doesn't matter which one."

"Okay." Said Buquet's corpse, and walked out the door.

* * *

Okay. Who do you want to go next? Erik, Christine, or Raoul? I'm going to wait a bit to post the next patient, because I'm going to be doing a waiting room chapter in between. Anyway, reviews are always nice, and they make Erik happy. 

Nobody likes an unhappy Erik.


	4. How to Hypnotize a Fop

**Disclaimer: **See previous disclaimer. It made me too distraught to type another one.

I am so, so sorry for my lack of updating. School has been evil lately; I've had WAY too much homework. Anyway, this is kind of an in between chapter telling of what goes on in the waiting room. It is also one of my longer chapters. Yay.

To my reviewers: Where have you been all my life? You people are so complimentary. I think I'm getting a big head.

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"What the _hell_ were you thinking, Erik?!" You cut off all his hair!" Madame Giry was storming around the waiting room, furious beyond reason.

Erik smirked.

"And?" he inquired. "I don't know if the thought had occurred to you, Erik, but that is bad. B-a-d."

He raised an eyebrow. In the midst of this scintillating conversation, Christine was sitting beside and attempting to comfort a still-sobbing Raoul, who was the huddled lump that we knew a few chapters ago.

Erik stared into space with a slightly vacant expression. He wondered if it were time to put the next step of his diabolical plan into action.

"Erik!" Madame Giry snapped. "Were you even listening to me?" Yep. Definitely time for step two.

"It's okay, Raoul. It will grow back."

Christine was attempting, yet again, to console Raoul on the loss of most of his hair.

"It-it will?" he choked, staring up at her with tear-filled eyes.

"Eventually…" she muttered, not meeting his eyes. He promptly burst into tears, sobbing his poor little foppy heart out.

"What did I do to deserve this?" she groaned, rolling her eyes.

**Fifteen minutes later:**

"Raoul, would you _please _calm down?"

He sniffled a few times, and finally managed to get himself under control.

"Hey," said Christine "It seems kind of quiet all of a sudden, doesn't it?" They both glanced around the room, fearing what they might find.

"Where's Mada-" Christine's sentence was cut off as she shrieked. Erik had dropped down out of nowhere, completely startling her and the fop. "Erik! Wha-what?! Where is Madame Giry?!"

"Hmm? Oh, she's fine, but I don't want her interrupting this." He smirked, and pulled out a few throwing stars.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, which is actually a rather long word, Raoul was pinned to the wall.

"Erik!" Christine began warningly. "Don't interfere, Christine. If you feel you _must_ do something, go find that meddlesome Giry woman."

Christine realized he was in one of those black moods where he would not listen to reason, so she headed off to locate her ballet instructor, muttering all the while about bossy phantoms.

"Erik," she said, pausing, "do me a favor and don't kill him."

"Fine," he muttered. Christine continued on her way out the door, wondering how long it would take to find Madame Giry. The building couldn't be _that _big, could it?

Meanwhile, Erik was deciding which of his dastardly ideas to use.

"Aha!" he said, and pulled out a dangling pendant.

He looked Raoul in the eyes. "You will watch the pendant," he said, in an ominous voice.

He began swinging it back and forth and mentally began cackling as Raoul's eyes followed it.

"Now," said Erik, adopting a serious and somewhat creepy tone, "You will do as I say."

"I will do as you say." Raoul repeated. "When I count to three, you will act like a penguin. One. Two. Three."

Erik removed the throwing stars, and watched in amusement as the fop stood and began waddling around the room, emitting a squawk every now and then. All of a sudden, Raoul stopped, and looked at Erik mournfully.

"What?" he snapped. "Oh, I guess you want some water, don't you?"

Erik smirked, and pulled out a bright pink kiddie pool.

_Damn, _he thought, looking at the expanse of pool that had yet to be blown up. _This is going to take a while._

"So he just grabbed you and locked you in a closet?" Christine asked incredulously. "That's not up to his usual standards."

"Keep in mind, Christine, he just wanted us out of the way so he could torture Raoul." Both Christine and Madame Giry stopped dead in their tracks, and then took off running towards the waiting room.

The sight that met their eyes made them stare in shock. Raoul was happily splashing away in the pool, stopping only to eat some fish that were occasionally tossed to him by Erik.

"Erik, what did you do to him?"

"It is simply a matter of hypnotism, my dear."

"You hypnotized my fiancée?!!" Christine shrieked.

"Yes," said Erik, quite calmly, "He now thinks he's a penguin."

Christine gave Erik a death glare.

Joseph Buquet's corpse chose that precise moment to burst into the room.

He walked over to Raoul, pulled him out of the pool, and dragged him into Dr. Wolfe's office.

"You're next, penguin boy."

* * *

In order to cure my depression over the fact that I own nothing, I made Erik bake me cookies.

If you review, I'll give you one.

Maybe.


	5. According to Plan

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it, I don't own it. But if I did...

A/N: I am so sorry for the lack of updates. Between exams, getting out of school, and getting sick, I have had absolutely no time. But, thankfully, all that is behind me, so I can post once again.

* * *

Buquet deposited Raoul in the chair, and then left, slamming the door behind him. 

Dr. Wolfe peered at her patient, who had gotten out of the chair and was waddling around the room.

"Are you alright?" she inquired, looking somewhat annoyed.

Remember, our good doctor had had a very trying day so far, what with all of these corpses and crazy people. Raoul squawked loudly, and waddled his way out of the room over to Erik, who was waving a piece of fish in the air and looking amused.

Dr. Wolfe walked over to Christine, who had seemed, along with Madame Giry, the only person who could keep Erik somewhat under control.

Christine looked at Dr. Wolfe, and, without hearing what she had to say, went over to Erik.

"Erik," she said, "You return Raoul to normal. _Now._"

Erik looked at her. "Make me."

"Erik-insert random middle name here-Destler! You are going to make my fiancée stop believing he's a penguin, and you are going to do it _now._" Erik shrugged.

"Fine, if it means so much to you. I was going to set him straight anyway."

He snapped his fingers, and Raoul immediately spat out the fish he was trying to eat, looking disgusted.

"What just happened?" he asked, dazed.

He never got an answer, though, because Dr. Wolfe, eager for this nightmare to end, had grabbed him and shoved him in her office. Closing the door triumphantly (and locking it, I might add), she glared at Raoul.

"No leaving until I'm finished. Got it, fish breath?" Raoul nodded.

"Alright, good. Now, I'm going to hold up an inkblot, and you're going to tell me what it looks like to you. This is to help me analyze your psychological profile, or something like that." She held up an inkblot.

Raoul concentrated, staring at the blot intently.

"Nail polish."

She held up another.

"Hairspray."

Another.

"Christine…and she's holding a tube of lipstick."

Dr. Wolfe looked at him oddly.

"Well, you apparently have an odd and disturbing fascination with women's makeup, and with Christine, but mostly makeup. Would you like to tell me how the two fit into your life?"

"They are my two first loves, really. Well, makeup was my first, and Christine was my second. There's just something about the beauty of an unopened can of hairspray…"

He gazed dreamily into the distance, while Dr. Wolfe watched him in a combination of disgust and…well, mostly disgust. She was sensing a psychological breakthrough, though, so she continued on the subject.

"Raoul, what would you do if you had to choose between makeup and Christine?" Raoul stared at her.

"Give up my makeup?!" he shrieked.

"Never!"

"Raoul, it is clear what you have to do. These two, um, loves of your life are tearing you apart. In order for you to be completely happy, you have to give one up. You do not have time for both of them in your life."

Raoul whimpered. "So, you're saying I have to give up one of the two things/people I love more than anything in this world?!"

"Yeah, pretty much."

_Anything to get you nuts out of my life._

Actually, Dr. Wolfe was quite proud of her little speech. It was ruined, however, by the fact that it had been delivered to a nut job who was in love with makeup.

Raoul steeled himself. "I know what I have to do."

Dr. Wolfe smiled, fully prepared for him to put makeup behind him and begin to lead a fairly normal life. Boy was she in for a surprise.

"Doctor, if you'll excuse me." Raoul began.

"Your session today has helped me greatly. I am complete, and I have to go tell my other love that I do not truly love her anymore."

His cheesy dialogue finished, Raoul unlocked the door and strode into the waiting room.

Dr. Wolfe followed, hoping to see the first positive result of these sessions. She was therefore extremely shocked to see Raoul approach Christine and take back his ring.

"Christine," he began, "It wouldn't have worked between us. I looked deep within myself (which doesn't say much, as he's quite shallow) and realized that I do not love you as I once did."

Christine stared at him.

"So, what you are saying is you're dumping me for your makeup?" she asked incredulously.

"Basically, yeah."

"I don't believe this!" she shrieked.

She took off her ring and threw it at Raoul. It left a beautiful dent right in the middle of his forehead.

"My face!! My beautiful face! I need my makeup!"

Christine let out a roar and began to chase the fop around the room. A word to the wise: breaking up with your fiancée and then mentioning the person/thing you left them for usually results in bodily harm. Just thought you should know.

Dr. Wolfe put her head in her hands and began to weep.

Would this day never end?!

Erik just sat in his corner and laughed.

Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

Erik says reviews make nice Christmas presents. 


	6. For the Love of Money

**Disclaimer:** It's not mine.

A/N: Hahahaha!!! I am finally back. You all thought I died, or disappeared off the face of the planet, didn't you? Well, you were wrong! I was simply bogged down with piles of homework, All-State auditions, and soccer. Now, however, I have finally reclaimed control over my life, and have returned to the world of fanfiction. I hope you enjoy my new chapter, which I wrote instead of starting my history project.

* * *

Returning from her convenient bathroom break during the previous chapter, Madame Giry, hearing the ruckus in the waiting room, broke into a run. She raced down the hallway, but stopped in shock when she saw the scene that awaited her. 

Erik had yet to come out of his maniacal laughing fit, while Christine, still incensed that Raoul had the gall to dump her for makeup, continued to chase her former fiancée about the room. Dr. Wolfe was huddled in a corner looking as if _she_ needed therapy.

Come to think of it, she probably did. After surveying the chaos, Madame Giry had had enough.

"I have had enough!" she shrieked.

Everyone froze.

"I'm gone for ten minutes, and this place turns into a zoo! Erik, I am ashamed of y-" She was cut off, however, when she was hoisted into the air by a hidden net that Erik had craftily placed upon arriving. It was one of his patented Madame Giry Traps. They came in many different varieties. For example:

The Madame Giry Pitfall: One step and your annoying Madame Giry is gone for good.

Or, for the less morbid,

The Madame Giry Steel Cage: Your Madame Giry will be trapped until YOU decide to let her out.

Or, as demonstrated above,

The Madame Giry Hidden Net: Ditto

_Warning: Erik and the author are in no way responsible for any injuries that may befall you or your Madame Giry from use of these products._

"Erik!" she shrieked to the smirking Phantom, "Get me down from here this instant!!" Erik looked at her, grinning slightly.

"Why?" She glared at him, but didn't answer. Christine took advantage of the distraction to tackle Raoul.

Well, she would have, had he not suddenly fallen through a trap in the floor. Everybody in the room turned to look at Erik.

"What?" he asked, looking as innocent as a man in a half-mask who had an extreme hatred for the man who had just fallen through the floor (i.e., not very innocent) could.

Christine looked at Erik and shrugged.

"Were I still engaged to that dirt bag," she said, motioning towards the floor Raoul had fallen through, "I might be upset. Now, however, I don't really give a crap. And, if all of you don't mind," she indicated the three remaining people in the room, "I would like to have my therapy session."

Dr. Wolfe snapped out of her stupor.

"What? Oh, okay. If you'll follow me…" She and Christine exited the room, leaving Erik and Madame Giry, who was still dangling in the net.

"Erik, I hate to be rude," Madame Giry said, "but would you get me out of this damn net?!"

Meanwhile, Christine and Dr. Wolfe were just about to begin Christine's therapy.

"Now Christine," began the doctor, "if you have had any traumatic or life-changing experiences other than those that have happened here, I would like for you to describe them to me."

Christine looked at her.

"Well," she began, "until recently, I was a ballet dancer at the Opera Populaire. "Now, however, I am quite an accomplished singer (thanks to Erik), the occasional stand-in for La Carlotta (again thanks to Erik), and generally out of work because someone (Erik) burned down the Opera. Did I mention that I have a stalker?

Dr. Wolfe sighed.

"Is your stalker, by any chance, Erik? And, might I be correct in supposing that Erik is in fact the notorious Phantom of the Opera?"

Christine stared.

"Wow, you're good."

"I try." said Dr. Wolfe, wryly.

"Now we're going to do a simple exercise where I tell you a color and you tell me an emotion that you associate with it. Okay?"

"Okay." said Christine.

"Alright, how about red?"

Christine thought about it.

"Roses..." she said, remembering Erik's roses.

"What about black?"

"...his tightly fitted clothes wrapped around his lithe body, accented by a swirling cape. He emits a hidden power, and is a mysterious and elegant enigma."

She stopped, for Dr. Wolfe was staring at her.

"Oh crap. That's the last time I read one of those badly written romance novels." she said, looking embarrassed. "They're just so addictive! Anyway, please continue, Dr. Wolfe."

"Right... Anyway, what about the color white?"

"I'd have to say Erik's mask."

At this, Dr. Wolfe rolled her eyes.

"Look Christine. It's pretty obvious that, despite what you may think, you have feelings for Erik. And, before you start to deny it, I want you to think about it yourself."

Christine thought about it.

"You're right!" she exclaimed, and promptly jumped up and rushed out of the room.

Dr. Wolfe smiled slightly, glad that she could help, and began to count the money Erik had given her.

She loved her job.

* * *

Did you like it? It's been a while since I've had a chance to type anything, so I want you to be brutally honest. I know it seems like I don't like Madame Giry in this chapter, but she's actually my second-favorite character.

I apologize for my long delay in updating, but my homework comes first (usually). If you haven't noticed by now, I am rather fond of E/C, so they probably will end up together. Erik deserves a break every now and then, don't you think?

Erik is always fond of reviews :P


	7. Falling Chandeliers

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

A/N: It has been a long time in coming, but it is finally here. This is the last chapter of this story that I will type (unless, of course, I go back through later and realize that this chapter actually sucks, and was written and posted during a temporary bout of insanity...not that that would ever happen).

Hopefully I made it funny enough for you guys. I know it may not seem like it's up to my usual standards, but if you stick through to the end it will (hopefully) be as funny as the rest. And yes, the beginning is supposed to be really corny ;P Anyway, on with the story.

* * *

The door to the waiting room burst open. Erik, still stationed in "his" corner, looked up, startled. 

"Christine!" he exclaimed, looking at the flustered diva as she strode into the room.

"Erik!" she cried, running over to him. "Erik, Dr. Wolfe has made me realize something. I am truly and deeply in love with you!"

Erik stared at her. "Are you being serious," he asked, "or are you just trying to mess with my head?" Christine looked deep into Erik's amber eyes.

"Erik," she said, completely serious, "I love you with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns." Overcome with emotion, Erik steeled himself for what he knew he had to do. He clasped Christine's hands in his and got down on one knee.

"Christine," he asked, his voice shaking, "will you marry me?" He was rewarded for his bravery with a brilliant smile from Christine, who shrieked as she was swept up into an enormous hug and spun about the room.

At that precise moment, Madame Giry returned from her convenient, chapter-long bathroom break, and took in the scene before her.

"Well, congratulations to the both of you." She said, smiling at the happy pair. They grinned back at her, overjoyed that they were finally together, euphoric in their newfound love, elated about their upcoming marriage, etc. etc.

Gladys the secretary chose that moment to walk over. You see, she had a very important question to ask Erik that had been bothering her the whole time. "Why do you wear a mask?" she asked tactlessly.

Erik looked at her.

"That is none of your business."

"But-

"Don't ask about the mask!" he yelled.

Christine looked at Gladys apologetically. "He's a little touchy about the-

Christine's mouth had dropped in shock, for the foolhardy secretary had reached over and plucked Erik's mask off. Gladys, overcome with horror, screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and, well, you get the picture.

Erik, of course, being the intelligent and anger-prone Phantom that he is, went into a violent rampage, pulled out a katana, and sliced the rope of the overhanging chandelier. And no, I have absolutely no idea why there was a chandelier hanging in the waiting room at the therapist's. There just was.

The chandelier crashed to the floor, and the room was soon engulfed in flames.

"Oh, shit," said Erik, coming out of his rampage to stare at the destruction.

Christine and Madame Giry rolled their eyes.

"Not again!" they both exclaimed.

"Come on, Erik. We need to get out of here before the whole building burns down."

Madame Giry grabbed Erik by the collar and dragged him out of the room with Christine following.

Gladys, still locked in "scream mode", passed out from lack of oxygen.

I would say that she had passed out from smoke inhalation, but she hadn't stopped screaming long enough to breathe.

The door to Dr. Wolfe's office opened, and the aforementioned doctor poked her head out.

"What is going on out here?!" she exclaimed. Seeing the flames, and Gladys unconscious on the floor, she gasped. "What happened?" The ceiling above her cracked, and pieces of it began raining towards the floor, with one heading straight towards our good doctor.

She threw up an arm to shield herself...

...and woke up in bed, panting.

"What the hell was that about?!" she exclaimed. "That was…just a dream? But…it was so real." Deciding that her need for sleep was more important than thinking about her incredibly weird dream, Dr. Wolfe rolled over and went back to sleep.

Later that morning, she was sitting in her office, waiting for her new patients to arrive.

Gladys poked her head inside the door. "Dr. Wolfe, they're here."

"Thank you, Gladys." She got up and went to greet them.

However, she stopped dead when she saw who they were.

Standing in front of her were Madame Giry, Joseph Buquet, Raoul, Christine, and Erik…

* * *

Hahahaha!! It's finally done (most likely). Hopefully the ending wasn't too sudden/bad/etc. 

Anyway, I would love to hear back from you guys, and Erik has been rather review starved lately :)


	8. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** If you still question the fact that The Phantom of the Opera and everything associated with it doesn't belong to me, I_ really_ pity you.

A/N: Okay, I know I said I was finished, but Dark-hearted rose mentioned that I should do an epilogue for this, and the idea kept picking at me until I had to write it. It gives a brief description of what happened to everybody, and then a little mini-story about what happened to our dear friend Raoul. A word to the wise: there's a lot of Raoul-bashing, but it's all in good fun.

Well, anyway, enjoy this little smidgeon (what an awesome word) of an epilogue :)

By the way, the end will make more sense if you've seen Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest.

* * *

In the end, everyone really _did _end up going to therapy, with everything playing out pretty much as it had happened in Dr. Wolfe's dream.

Erik and Christine eloped to umm…let's see, I can't say Paris, because they live there…how about Reykjavik? Iceland's always overlooked when it comes to these sorts of things. I bet it's actually very romantic there. Yes, we'll go with Reykjavik.

Anyway, Erik and Christine lived happily every after, with no more mask mishaps, because apparently Icelandic people are much more accepting of that sort of thing...not that I would know.

There they lived happily ever after, and had three beautiful children named—well, I'm too lazy to think of names. Use your imagination.

Madame Giry got a job at the newly renovated Paris Opera House, where she trained the next generation of ballet rat. Unless my sources are mistaken, she went on to develop the foxtrot, the electric slide, and the Macarena. Of course, there's a good chance that my sources are mistaken.

Gladys never fully recovered from her tragic experience of ripping off Erik's mask and then passing out from smoke exposure, because, as everyone knows, that can ruin you for life. She now lives in the wilderness of Canada, where she valiantly fights off the evil forces of squirrels and Mounties.

Doctor Wolfe decided to give up her career as a shrink when she won the lottery (and due to what she dubbed as the "Erik Incident"). She used her newfound money to retire, and bought a large estate in Jamaica. Of course, her troubles were far from over. Soon after arriving, she was enlisted by a navy man in a funny wig, who had heard of her experience as a therapist; he wished her to help some acquaintances of his, who he claimed were, "too piratical for their own good."

As far as Nadir was concerned, he fled the country soon after the aforementioned "Erik Incident," as he had three _very_ angry people pursuing him. He eventually relocated to Geneva.

Joseph Buquet's corpse went back to being dead, which was apparently much more enjoyable now that he had discovered the wonders of _People_ magazine.

And as to the last member of the group, well, Raoul still had one last adventure left. If you will remember, Erik had sent our dear Viscount tumbling to his apparent doom through a trapdoor in the floor, which authorities are still questioning the origins of. The trapdoor, not the floor. Contrary to popular belief, Raoul did _not _die, disappear, get sucked into an alternate dimension/eaten by aliens, etc.

He instead landed on the bottom of the trapdoor, which was about ten feet in depth. His fall was cushioned by all of the various sharp objects Erik had positioned around the floor. Thankfully, he landed on his back.

When he regained his footing, Raoul had to pull a variety of things out of his back and buttocks, including twenty-three thumbtacks, two and a half soda cans, fifty-six roses, and a pair of glass slippers.

Somewhere in the world of fairy tales, Cinderella cried.

Glancing around his prison, Raoul spied a door leading—hopefully—to the outside. Being who he was, Raoul impulsively rushed to the door, opened it, and strode into the corridor beyond. It was longer than he had expected. In fact, he couldn't even see an end to it. It had to lead somewhere, though. And so, picking up a conveniently placed torch, that was conveniently lit, he began to walk down the long passage.

Months passed, and still he found no sign of the exit. He survived by eating the rats he found--okay, I'm kidding. There were actually provisions located throughout the tunnel; apparently Erik was nicer than everyone believed.

After about a year of being trapped in the tunnel, Raoul came across an opening leading to the outside world. He was overjoyed. Slowly he stepped out into the light, shielding his eyes from the over bright sun.

The scene before him was somewhat astounding. Before him lay a variety of green, tropical plants; through them, he could see the white sand of a beach, and the shimmering turquoise water of the tropics.

Walking forward a few steps, he suddenly found himself surrounded by a group of savages, all of whom were pointing weapons at him. They stared at him, and one of them gabbled in some odd language.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Raoul looked at them.

One of them, who was apparently the leader, turned to his men and spoke again. They answered in a cheer, and Raoul soon found himself unconscious, a dart protruding from his neck. Raoul in tow, the savages made their way back home.

And then they made him their chief.

* * *

And that is that.

Gentlemen, I was my hands of this weirdness.

I can honestly say that I am done with this story. I loved writing it, and it was the first fan fiction that I ever wrote. Hopefully, I've improved since November. I apologize for the Pirates references, but I am completely obsessed with the movies (well, more than usual), so they were bound to show up sometime.

Erik considers himself above begging, so he _commands_ you to review.


End file.
